


Heart to Hearts and Hangover Cures

by CoffeeAndConjunctions



Series: A Relationship As Told By Meals [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Girls Night Out, real talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:03:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndConjunctions/pseuds/CoffeeAndConjunctions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That's only because you compare him to the men we know. We live with super buff dudes with model good looks—you're being kind of unfair to the rest of the male population.” Darcy interjects wisely, “I mean who has a better set of guns then Rogers?”</p><p>Gotcha.</p><p>A look of immense pride comes over Natasha's face, well she had been taking lessons from the best on the art of integration and misdirection.</p><p>In a move too graceful not to be measured Maria turns to Darcy, crossing her legs so she faced the younger woman. “I hardly think Barnes would appreciate hearing that.” It's strange to be openly speaking about her thing (ugh it was still a thing, she really needed to pin him down for a talk about this) with the ex-commando and sometimes Winter Soldier.</p><p>“Bucky has the best legs, like—have you seen those thighs?!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart to Hearts and Hangover Cures

 

xi. Heart to Hearts and Hangover Cures

Hill turns down a drink from the waitress, her second one of the night that had come from a 'gentleman at the bar'. The waitress seemed to be taking it in good spirit, no doubt the staff were having a good laugh about it. The score now stands with Natasha at four (vodka martinis), Pepper coming in close behind at three (vodka martini with extra olives) and now Maria (gin and tonic) had tied with Darcy (old fashioned, splash of cherry juice) and Jane with one (Tequila Sunrise) all ordered by men hoping for an introduction. Pepper had taken them out for a much needed girl's night, claiming they lived and worked around too much testosterone. Considering who and what they all dealt with she wasn't wrong.

Curiously she peeks at the man who'd sent Hill the drink, four years ago she would consider him handsome. That standard had risen ridiculous high since New Mexico. He takes it gracefully when his drink was declined, merely salutes Hill with his own and turns back to his buddy. Taking a sip of her drink, perfectly smooth in a way that screamed expensive whiskey, she turns to the women.

“That one seemed nice, why not bite Hill?”

“Not my type.”

Natasha jumps on the answer (beat her by two seconds, two seconds) leaning on the table closer to Maria.

“So you have a type?”

As if sensing her mistake Hill narrows her eyes, chin jutting up so she can look down at Natasha. Pepper—bless her—defuses the tension with practiced ease.

“Don't we all? Clearly megalomaniac is mine.”

Darcy snorts softly into her drink, Jane just nods solemnly in agreement. (There was a betting pool among the Minions as to when Jane would snap and kill Tony, which she of course took no part in. Alright so she had twenty bucks riding on December 2019).

“Uhmm, I guess I like _tall_ men—”

“Hardly a feat for you Janey.”

Shrugging slightly she seems satisfied with her answer.

“What about you, what lures in the infamous Black Widow.” Hill questions, turning the tables on Natasha.

Taking a moment to consider her words Natasha surprises them all by answering in a straight forward fashion. “Soft eyes.” Sharing a bit of herself wasn't uncharacteristic for the Widow anymore, just uncommon.

The last of Hill's defensive posture seems to deflate with that. “I'm an arm girl, give me a good bicep and I'm inclined to accept drinks. And he is a little on the scrawny side.”

“That's only because you compare him to the men we know. We live with super buff dudes with model good looks—you're being kind of unfair to the rest of the male population.” Darcy interjects wisely, “I mean who has a better set of guns then _Rogers?_ ”

_Gotcha._

A look of immense pride comes over Natasha's face, well she had been taking lessons from the best on the art of integration and misdirection.

In a move too graceful not to be measured Maria turns to Darcy, crossing her legs so she faced the younger woman. “I hardly think Barnes would appreciate hearing that.” It's strange to be openly speaking about her thing (ugh it was still a thing, she really needed to pin him down for a talk about this) with the ex-commando and sometimes Winter Soldier.

“Bucky has the best legs, like—have you seen those _thighs_?!”

Pepper murmurs appreciatively, Jane blushes and looks away which is a sure sign she's checked them out. (Hey, fair is fair she'd oogled Thor enough times before the brotherly feeling set in). Natasha shrugs in that casual way of hers which says nothing and everything.

Hill just laughs, head tossed back and relaxed.

Pepper was right, they needed this.

* * *

 

“Sargent Barnes, pardon the interruption but Captain Rogers is requesting your assistance down at the garage.”

The A.I interrupts the flow of his kata by only a half second but it's enough to bring a frown to his face, being precise had been key to survival for too many years—it was engrained in his mind, he thinks it was that way even before H.Y.D.R.A. He had a sniper's calculating logic, every squared had it's hole and every move its measured meaning.

Except for her, he couldn't find where she fit yet.

Pivoting on the ball of his left foot he completes half of a take down move that was the specialty of this particular style, completing the kata's final move he rights himself—not bothering with shoes he walks lose limbed out of the gym. Without someone to accompany him he prefers to take the stairs—they would never wind him—being along in the enclosed metal space of the elevator just hit a little to close to home, to similar to cryo.

Claustrophobia his therapist called it.

The fear of enclosed spaces, but the Asset is meant to be fearless—what use is a weapon with limitations? As much use as one who asks questions something in him says, some dark corner of his mind. Squashing down the anxiety that voice brought, a familiar voice that had told him he'd shaped the century, he takes the steps down two at a time.

J.A.R.V.I.S opens the sliding doors for him, the glass is thick, bullet proof—he could take it down in twenty minutes, he needed to speak to Stark about that structural weakness—the garage is full of vintage and modern cars, he knows the specs of most of them. How to tear them down, which spot to shoot to cause the most damage.

Heading toward the sound of feminine laughter he finds Steve half sticking out a sleek, black car—the driver, Hogan is on the other side helping out the Potts woman who is tottering on her impractical heels. Stark's lover, she reminded him of Sarah Rogers, a no nonsense woman who would offer up warm smiles and sound advice.

Natalia— _Natasha_ —is leaning against a pillar, clearly amused by whatever was going on.

“But _Steeeeeeve—_ ” tucked against Steve's chest, Darcy is struggling to hang on to the car door resisting the gentle pulls of the arms draped around her waist. Something dark, possessive rises in his chest at the picture they make, he knows Steve has no interest in his Ass—in Darcy but it would make sense for a girl to pick Steve.

What did a man who struggled to recognize his own name have to offer.

Nothing, says the voice.

Another cries out his name, “Bucky!” and then he has an armful of soft, lush woman pressed against him.

Bright eyes, rimmed with just a touch of red from too much liquor, look up at him as if he is something—someone—worth looking at and he thinks he will falter under her gaze but remains upright, steady—she can't be trusted to hold herself up right now, he could be her strength.

He understood that.

“Oh thank God, Buck—thing you can manage getting Lewis to her room?”

Steve's face is awash with relief, another dark haired woman is hanging off his arm—takes him a moment to placed the relaxed posture of the woman as Hill—when Hill leans closer to Steve, whispering something only he can hear the blonde man turns a shade of red that takes away the lingering edge of animosity that had clouded his thoughts just moments ago.

Stevie was hopeless with women.

“Of course punk—think you can handle Hill?”

Shaking his head his enhanced hearing can make out the Jerk he sends his way before Darcy's Doctor Foster is tucked under his other arm. Natasha seems to take pity on Steve and takes hold of Foster, most wouldn't notice but the Widow was completely smashed as well—just better functioning then the rest.

Giving his full attention to the woman in his arms, the corner of her mouth was tinted a faint red from where her lipstick had smudged, he feels his lips pulling into a smile. It's not forced, or practiced or there because he knows it should be, it's just there because the color is high in her cheeks, pupils dilated with sexual desire.

“Think you can stand long enough for me to get you on my back?”

“Mmmmm, yes—but wouldn't it be more fun with me on _my_ back? I'm totally equal opportunity though.”

“I'll remind you of that in the morning. Now get on.”

He's kneeling down, back facing toward her—the Soldier always fought against having anything at his back but she was no threat, she cared for them, feed them, wanted them a voice supplied—he rises when her weight is on his back and her arms around his neck.

It's vulnerable position for them both, her thighs are gripped by his hands and he knows no less then ten ways to permanently harm her in this position.

“Oh Bucky, you're _so_ strong.” giggling at her own words she lets her chin rest on his shoulder, breath tickling the tender skin beneath his jaw.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, you recoding this?”

“Yes Sargent Barnes.”

“Perfect.”

* * *

 

Mouth feeling like she'd licked the inside of a linty pocket—complete with mystery after taste—Darcy greets the morning with a groan. Rolling over, burrowing deeper into the sheets she notices a few things are amiss. The sheets feel different—thinner and a little coarse--and the sun was coming in from the wrong side of the room, her bedroom window didn't face the east. And finally, she was wearing a t-shirt she didn't recognize.

Everything about this screamed ' _you had sex_ ' only she didn't have the pleasant soreness between her legs and something told her when you fucked a Super Soldier you felt it in the morning. When the door swings open she lets out an undignified squeak of surprise pulling the sheets up to her neck, which is when she notices how her breast bounce up, free of her bra.

Barnes walks in carrying a tray, it smells like food and her stomach both lurches and rebels—the joys of hangovers. Setting the tray down on the bed he sits at the end near her legs, picking up a glass of o.j and two white pills he holds them out to her.

“This should help, over did yourself last night I think.”

Grateful for his forward thinking she drops the sheet in favor grabbing the items he's passing over., a little embarrassed she pulled the up to begin with. The juice helps wash away some one the gross taste from her mouth but her teeth are still a little fuzzy when she runs her tongue over them.

“Thank you...I..we...uhmm, we didn't.”

Cocking his head Barnes just looks at her questioningly (if he was faking this shit she was gonna kill him, she was in no mood to be fucked with—oh you know what she means).

“Didwehavesexlastnight?” It comes out in a rush of speed that leaves her a little dizzy.

“No. You're out of your clothes because you refused to go to sleep in your dress. I gave you clothes, you changed into them yourself. Honest Ma'am, no funny business.”

Laughing at the scandalized look on his face she can't help but lean forward and kiss those pursed lips, he's receptive of it—a little too receptive considering she still had morning mouth.

“Good, you're too classy for a drunk lay. I'll do right by you Barnes.”

Biting his bottom lip in a familiar gesture of nerves he lets his gaze drop when she winks at him, she knows it's not because he's an untouched maiden—the history books never shied away from mentioning his lady killer ways—so she can only conclude that it's Darcy Lewis that makes him nervous.

“Shouldn't that be my line?”

“Nah, I'm an equal opportunity kind of woman.”

“Oh, I remember.”

There's no shyness in his gaze when he says that, instead he's looking her dead in the eye—leaning closer until he's on his knees crawling over her. A little shock she just leans back until she's got him hovering over her body, hair falling messy and damp from a shower no doubt. He was gorgeous, he was so close—shit this was happening.

“You said it would be more fun with you on you back.” His lips are trailing kisses down her neck, her hands are white knuckled on the sheets. “Right after I caught Stevie trying to _pry_ you away from a car door.”

“What?”

In a falsetto voice he whispers in her ear “Bucky, you're _so_ strong.”

“No, I didn't.”

Rolling off of her, careful not to jostle the tray, he lies back among the pillows with a teasing grin on his face.

“Oh yes you did. J.A.R.V.I.S had video proof. I made sure.”

Taking a pillow she shoves her face in it and prays for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. And the bastard starts laughing, full belly laughs that shake the bed. Unable to resist she looks at him, his eyes are bright with mischief and a charming smile is on his face and Darcy thinks this is the most like the Bucky from the old films he has ever resembled.

Dragging the tray closer she starts picking at the food with her fingers (scrambled eggs, toast and fresh sliced fruit—he's a keeper) not bothering with utensils for now she pops a strawberry half into his mouth.

Fucking tease lets his tongue run along the pad of her finger.

“Bucky?”

“Mhmm?”

“What are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are we friends that share some pretty stellar smoochies? Or is this a thing? Like a exclusive—relationshipy thing? Cause if this is meant to be casual and fun I think the train left the station awhile ago for me.”

(Good job, Lewis. You used words in english at least.)

Propped up on his elbow his bionic hand reaches out to play with a strand of her hair, he seems to be taking her words. The silence is uncomfortable for the first time she's been with him, she's invested in this damn it—what if she should have just well enough alone? Was it wrong to expect something like commitment from someone like Bucky? A thousand questions float in her head, triple as many ways he could be thinking of letting her down easy.

“This isn't casual.”

“Okay.”

“Calling you my girl has been on the tip of my tongue since you stood on that coffee table and beat sense into me.”

“Oh.”

“Would that be okay, if you were my girl?”

“Yeah, yeah that would be okay.”

They spend the rest of the morning stealing bites of a cold breakfast between kisses, clothes stay on because she knows he doesn't trust himself with that yet but it's a hell of a way to beat a hangover.

  


  


 

**Author's Note:**

> The dreaded Talk. I don't know about you guys but I hate having the Talk! A little bit of Bucky's POV.


End file.
